


Lookalike

by bepreparedf0rhell



Category: Slipknot (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, dumb cutesy boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 15:49:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21914575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bepreparedf0rhell/pseuds/bepreparedf0rhell
Summary: In which Jim comes home drunk.
Relationships: Jim Root/Mick Thomson
Comments: 16
Kudos: 58





	Lookalike

**Author's Note:**

> so, this is completely self-indulgent and dumb. i've been working on something much angstier than this but just haven't been in the mood to get anywhere with it and this idea came to me and this whole story was written in what felt like five minutes. it's goofy but cute i think, so whatever.

Mick shakes awake as the doorknob rattles on the front door across the living room from him. He can hear shuffling and muffled grumbles on the other side of the door and he recognizes the voice at once and suddenly feels a little less stupid than he previously had for deciding to sleep on the couch until Jim got home. He stands and stretches his limbs, tosses his long hair behind his shoulder.

As he approaches the door he can hear keys jingling. They drop to the ground and Jim grumbles again outside. A smirk crosses Mick’s face and for a second he contemplates just leaving him out there and seeing how long it takes him to manage to find the right key and actually get it into the lock. The only reason he gives up and unlocks and pulls the door open himself is because it’s winter and cold and he can’t remember what degree of a jacket Jim had left the house in. The last thing he wants is a giant Jim popsicle. 

Jim’s red-rimmed eyes are wide and startled when his head snaps up to look at Mick. He seems surprised to see him for some reason, and it dawns on Mick that he’s drunker than he had even expected him to be. Jim stumbles into the house clumsily, looking like at any given moment his long legs are going to slip right out from under him and Mick’s going to have a full-on Bambi situation on his hands. 

Mick’s always been more of an at-home drinker; he doesn’t like the noise or the trouble of bars, would rather just stay home and pass the fuck out on his own couch afterwards. Jim, however, has always been much more of a bar scene kind of guy. So, typically, Mick stays home and watches some movie Jim wouldn’t like anyway and eats shitty food that Jim would scrunch up his face in disgust at and Jim goes out with whoever and does whatever. It’s been quite a while since Mick’s seen him quite so far gone, though. He’s not surprised; he knows Jim’s had a rough week, he just wasn’t quite prepared for it. 

In the split second it takes for Mick to turn around and shut and lock the door, Jim’s gone. 

“Oh, fuck me,” Mick grumbles, following Jim’s heavy footsteps into the kitchen. When he reaches him, Jim’s just sitting down on one of the barstools at the counter. He’s still wobbly and Mick has to rush to him to catch his elbow to keep him from just slipping right off the stool and onto the floor. Jim looks at him with his brows knit together, annoyance clear on his face. 

“I d-don’t need you fuckin’ h-help,” Jim informs him, and Mick chuckles lightly. 

“Okay, sunshine. I’ll just let you fall right onto the floor next time,” Mick tells him, moving across the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee as soon as he’s sure Jim’s not going to fall off the goddamn stool anyway. He’s still not entirely convinced, but at least now Jim’s anchored himself down by holding onto the counter so tightly his knuckles are going white. 

Jim grunts in response to Mick’s comment and as the coffee brews he starts rummaging through his pockets, emptying everything out onto the counter. Mick’s got no idea what the fuck he’s doing, but at least he’s occupying himself. Jim’s always been a little bit… high maintenance when drunk. He’s so composed and careful with everything normally, anxiety and uncertainty driving him. When drunk, though, he turns into some weird no-cares version of himself that has always stressed Mick out. One of these days he was going to give him a heart attack, he was pretty sure. 

“You have a good night?” Mick asks a few minutes later, now mostly just curious what he’s doing digging through his wallet and the various other things he’s pulled from his pockets. Jim looks up at him, nods. For the first time since he got home he’s actually looking at Mick, studying him. Mick looks right back at him, amused. He hasn’t a clue what the hell he’s thinking, but he knows it’s something that’s taking a lot of his energy. There’s practically smoke coming out of his nostrils. 

“I’m d-drunk,” Jim tells him, and Mick laughs out loud, unable to stop himself. 

“I noticed.”

Jim looks at him for another long moment and then goes back to the stuff in front of him, returning to his task of rifling through it all. Mick shakes his head and goes back to the coffee maker, pouring both of them a cup. He’d mostly made it for himself; it was almost four in the morning and he didn’t see much point in going back to sleep, but he also figured Jim could probably stand to have a cup. 

Mick slides Jim’s cup in front of him and he looks at it for a second and goes back to his wallet, seemingly finally finding what he was looking for. 

“Ah!” he says so loudly that Mick can’t help but laugh quietly again. Jim holds up a photo to Mick, his hand shaking just slightly. Mick has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. It’s a photo of himself. It’s old and faded, the corners bent and tattered, but it’s him. He’s not even sure when it’s from or where the fuck Jim would’ve gotten it, but it’s very clearly him. 

“What?” Mick asks, raising an eyebrow. Jim shifts and Mick says a silent prayer, hoping he manages to keep his mile-long limbs in check enough to keep himself on the stool. Mick’s really not sure he has the energy to haul him off of the floor right now. Jim holds the photo out further to Mick across the counter and he reaches up and takes it, pretty sure that’s what he wants. He pretends to study it and then looks back up at Jim.

“That’s my boyfriend,” Jim informs him like there’s no way in the world he would’ve known that. Mick nods slightly. 

“And?”

“And it’s just so weird how much you look like him,” Jim says, and Mick has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from bursting out in laughter. So _that’s_ what he’s thinking, that Mick just so happens to be a stranger in the house they share that looks a lot like him but isn’t him somehow. Sure. Makes sense. Also, Mick’s vaguely alarmed that Jim isn’t more worried about a stranger who looks a lot like his boyfriend but isn’t his boyfriend being in their house, but whatever. He’ll deal with that one later. 

“I’ve just got one of those faces, I guess,” Mick tells him, doing his best to keep a straight face. Jim nods solemnly, finally picking up the coffee mug and taking a sip. 

“You know how I like my coffee?” he asks, and Mick nods. 

“I took a guess.”

“Wow,” Jim says incredulously, and Mick finally can’t hold it back anymore and lets out a little chuckle. “What?” Jim asks, offended. 

“What’s your dude like?” Mick asks, knowing he’ll have to get Jim to bed soon but just having way too much fun with it. The offense melts off of Jim’s face and he smiles goofily, his features creasing with affection clear in his eyes. Mick feels a pang in his chest, happiness filling it up. 

“He’s… so good. He’s big and grumpy on the outside but he loves me. He’s just… he’s a teddy bear really,” Jim slurs, making Mick smile. He nods and takes a deep drink from his own coffee, watching Jim carefully. 

He can see that he’s getting more and more tired by the second and knows damn well that if he doesn’t get him upstairs and to bed soon, he’s going to have to try and carry him, which considering the fact that Jim’s six feet six inches of awkward limbs and a fifty-foot torso and Mick’s got bad knees, isn’t really an ideal option. 

“You getting tired?” Mick asks, thankful that Jim didn’t really drink much of the coffee. Jim nods slowly. 

“Very,” he says, and Mick nods. He’s surprised he’s not getting more of an argument out of him but isn’t complaining. He circles the island and makes his way to Jim, taking his elbow tightly. He’s surprised again when Jim seems to be too tired to argue about Mick helping him. Apparently he’s tired enough that he wants sleep more than independence. 

He leads Jim upstairs and helps him out of his boots and into bed. Normally Mick would help him strip out of his jeans too, but he doesn’t want to risk starting a whole thing about how he’s a stranger and shouldn’t be seeing him in his underwear, which he knows for sure would start if he were to try. 

Jim’s already mostly asleep as Mick pulls the covers up over him, and he leans down and chances a kiss to his forehead. He brushes his hair out of his face and takes one more look at him before stepping towards the door to head back downstairs. 

“I’m gonna tell my boyfriend you kissed me and he’s gonna beat the shit outta you,” Jim mumbles just as Mick’s about to cross into the hallway and he laughs quietly, shaking his head. 

“I’ll take my chances,” he informs him, “I love you, you fucking dumbass.”

**Author's Note:**

> wheresyoursavior.tumblr.com


End file.
